Web of Fate

A towering, grotesquely obese man loomed in front of Peter, standing an imposing 8 feet tall (243 cm). His sheer size was intimidating, and staring down at Peter as he stepped onto the stage. This was Fred Dukes, better known as the Blob.

'Is this the guy with Mutant power' Peter thought, his mind racing. 'If I'm not mistaken, doesn't he have some kind of reflection ability?'

He couldn't have been more wrong. Blob's mutant gift was his near-impervious skin, making his body an unbreakable fortress.

Unaware of the truth, Peter misjudged the danger. His misunderstanding made him overly cautious, his eyes scanning for any sign of the supposed reflection ability.

The crowd erupted with shouts, their voices clashing in a chaotic roar.

"Take him down, Bane!"

"Crush him, Blob! Turn him into paste!"

Blob smirked, clearly enjoying the hesitation in Peter's stance. Without warning, he charged forward, launching a heavy overhand punch. Peter sidestepped just in time, narrowly avoiding the blow.

'He gotta have a weakness' Peter thought, racking his brain for anything he knew about the Blob. But nothing useful came to mind. Finally, he decided, 'The only way I'm winning this is if I wear him out.'

"Come on, fatty! Is that all you got?" Peter taunted, retreating a few steps.

Blob's expression twisted with rage. "What did you say?! I'm gonna crush you, little man!" he roared, charging again.

Peter waited until the last second and slipped out of the way. "With what, tubby? That belly of yours?" he smirked, his voice dripping with mockery behind the mask.

Blob's face twisted in fury as he spun around, charging at Peter again. This time, Peter leapt forward, flipping over Blob to avoid the rush.

Mid-flip, Peter's foot accidentally grazed Blob's nose, making the giant stumble and instinctively rub his face. Peter, too focused on his next move, didn't notice.

Blob turned, his anger now boiling over, and lunged at Peter with renewed determination. This time, Peter feinted to the right earlier than usual, drawing Blob into the trap. The massive man caught on and adjusted his charge, veering sharply in that direction.

But Peter was ready. He quickly shifted left, narrowly avoiding the tackle. The sudden change in momentum threw Blob off balance, sending him crashing face-first into the ground with a loud thud.

The crowd erupted in laughter, the scene unfolding like a live bullfighting match.

Peter couldn't help but let out a chuckle, the sound light but enough to fuel Blob's growing rage. Blob's face turned crimson as he pushed himself up and charged again, only to fail miserably once more.

"Bro, you're not the Hulk. Stop pretending, fatty," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

The pattern repeated—charge, dodge, crash—until Blob finally collapsed onto the ground, panting and utterly drained.

Peter lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged a safe distance away. 'I can't hurt this guy, but I'm not dumb enough to get close to him while he was down' he thought, waiting patiently for Blob to recover, his guard still up just in case.

"Yo, organizer! Get this guy outta here!" someone in the crowd shouted, the chant catching on like wildfire.

"Get him out!"

"Get him out!"

"Get him out!"

The entire room echoed with the demand, the spectators fed up with Blob's humiliation. Finally, a group of staff entered the ring, attempting to drag the massive man out.

But Blob didn't budge. It was as if he'd fused with the floor, his sheer bulk defying their every effort. The harder they pulled, the more futile it seemed, the crowd erupting in laughter at the ridiculous sight.

One of the men struggling to move Blob finally lost his patience and slapped him across the face.

Peter noticed Blob flinch in pain, but the hit seemed to awaken something. Blob rose to his feet, shoving everyone near him aside with brute force.

'His face… that's his weakness' Peter thought, a grin spreading across his face. 'Now I've got him'

Before Blob could crush the man head, Peter leapt into action, delivering a flying kick straight to Blob's eye. Blob let out a deafening roar of pain, staggering back.

Peter didn't stop there. He launched himself again, this time landing a solid kick to the side of Blob's head, hitting his ear. The giant fell to his knees, disoriented. Peter pressed the advantage, unleashing a flurry of punches to Blob's face before finishing with a powerful kick to the other side of his head.

With a heavy thud, Blob collapsed, unconscious at last.

The crowd erupted, chanting wildly, "More! More! More!"

Peter shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. 'And to think I thought he could reflect damage. Can't believe I missed such an obvious weakness,' he mused, silently.

Hours later, Peter stood alone in the ring, the last fighter remaining. He had conquered the entire gauntlet.

When it was over, he stepped forward to collect his prize. The clerk handed him a suitcase packed with cash—his earnings for lasting that long, along with his winning bets.

"Are there any other fighting rings around Queens?" Peter asked the clerk, leaning casually on the counter.

"There's one in Hell's Kitchen," the clerk replied.

"Aight," Peter said, nodding.

The clerk hesitated. "But I wouldn't recommend going there. If Kingpin takes a liking to you, you'll end up his pawn. No one walks away from him."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Do you know the location?"

With a resigned sigh, the clerk slid a small piece of paper across the counter. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he muttered. The address was scribbled on the front, with a password scrawled on the back.

"Thanks," Peter said, pocketing the note.

Peter hurried back home, knowing he was running out of time before school started.

When he finally looked at the cash, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. After all the cuts and fees, he had pocketed about $96,250. It was more than enough for him.

He knew his winnings had been whittled down, but he wasn't about to complain. 'Greed would only slow me down,' he thought, shaking his head. This was a solid haul, and he was smart enough to know when to walk away.

In just over 20 minutes, Peter made it home, slipping through the window and into his room. He quickly shoved the suitcase under his bed, but then froze.

'Wait, won't Aunt May find this?' he thought, anxiety creeping in.

"Shit," Peter muttered, realizing the risk. Without wasting another second, he grabbed the suitcase and stashed it in his closet, burying it beneath his clothes. 'This is better,' he decided, breathing a little easier.

Just as he finished, he heard a knock at the door. Uncle Ben stood there, already awake and ready to go.

"Oh, you're up already. Get ready. We've got to leave early today, I've got work," Uncle Ben said, a slight urgency in his voice.

"Sure," Peter replied, already moving to grab a towel. He quickly went to the bathroom to take a shower, hoping the morning would go smoothly.

...

Inside the abandoned warehouse in Glen Cove,

The atmosphere was tense. The clerk, who doubled as the owner of the illegal fighting ring, approached Blob with a look of disdain.

"You're useless," he muttered, his words cutting through the silence.

Blob, sitting in the corner, didn't respond. He simply remained still, a hulking figure of frustration.

Then, the quiet was shattered. The side of the warehouse exploded outward as a massive force struck it. Standing in the rubble was a man far larger than Blob—his muscles bulging like something out of a nightmare, each one bigger than a human head. He was encased in full red armor, a helmet obscuring his face.

Behind him, a group of people emerged, their presence ominous. The leader, floating effortlessly above the ground, wore his own helmet, a menacing air surrounding him.

He descended slowly, landing gracefully in front of Blob.

"Fred Dukes," the leader called, extending a hand as though offering a deal from the depths of hell itself. "Follow me."